You Brought the Monster
by RnbwXSprinkles
Summary: The story of Regulus Black's Death Eater career from early life to too-early death. (Rating of M just in case, may be a T). Warnings: Implied violence, implied sexual situations, implied drug use. May later become more than implied.
1. Welcome to the Universe

The house was far too quiet, as if even the building itself was waiting with baited breath for the arrival of the monster with red eyes and too-cold skin. The only noise was his own breathing and the ticking of the clock on the mantle, the usually soft sound ominous and echoing in the silence. Regulus stared at it, watching the second hand shutter and jerk to each now position, waiting, his heart beating faster than the flutter of a dragonfly's wings.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle."

It was his father's voice and the first sound Regulus had heard other than the clock in the hour since he'd been told to wait in the parlor. The door was cracked open and he sat in a well-made and comfortable armchair in his own home, yet for all the world, he could have been locked away in a dungeon and still felt safer.

"Good evening. I'm sure you have Regulus waiting for me already?"

The voices were coming from the entry way, drifting up the stairs and through the room. They sounded distant as compared to the clock's ticking. Regulus stood. If he walked fast enough, he could get up to his room, owl his brother, and climb down the trellis on the side of the house. He could leave and never come back. As long as he could forget the way his mother had cried for days when Sirius had done the same thing or the way his father hadn't spoken or shown his face outside of the study.

Before Regulus could move any farther, the door opened. His eyes snapped up and were met and held by rings of blood-read. Suddenly, those eyes were the entire world, and lost memories and thoughts that he had no real reason to be thinking were making their way to the surface of his mind, as if those eyes were digging them up and out. He blinked and tore his gaze away before looking down, feeling his thoughts begin to make conscious sense again.

"Ah. Regulus Black."

Regulus glanced past the tall, inhuman figure toward his father who nodded desperately—eager to sell his son's soul for safety and a cause that didn't settle just right in Regulus' gut. Regulus looked back down at the ground, head and eyes averted respectfully.

"My Lord."

:::

Regulus opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling of his room, the same one he'd had since being moved out of the nursery in early childhood. The same one across the hall from where another young boy had once slept. A young boy with a bigger grin and brighter eyes, longer hair and always in movement.

As shadows crept across his ceiling, telling an unintelligible story of the neighborhood beyond his house, Regulus' mind wandered over the contents of his dream before he realized it had been a memory. That had been three years ago. He'd been sixteen and home for Christmas. His parents' gift to him had been selling him off to the Dark Lord. His family's safety would be ensured; his parents would be proud of him; the world would change, and he would help it.

_Don't think_, Regulus thought to himself, _you mustn't think._

Despite the reminder, Regulus' hear beat fast, and his jaw and fists gripped tight. He threw his blankets off of him—a splash of dulled green through the sunrise-stained air—and got dressed quickly into his black robes, then stood, feeling lost in his own room. Though he was standing on the rug upon which his bed was placed, he could feel the cold coming off of the hardwood floor a few inches away from him. It sent a shiver up his spine before he put on his shoes and sat down again on the edge of his bed. He longed for the mark on his arm to burn. He longed for a distraction. He longed for anything to call him away. Even pain. Pain numbed the mind just as well as, and sometimes better than, pleasure.

After long moments, nothing came. Biting down hard on his tongue, keeping back a scream, Regulus dug his fingers into his sheets and mattress uselessly, then stalked forward and opened his door quickly and tensely before slamming it shut behind him. The anger and pent up aggression was seething through him, and staring at the identical deep brown door across from him was not helping matters. _Sirius Orion Black_, he read to himself silently. He held back a snarl, then turned on his heel to continue down the hall, his robes billowing at the movement. He wanted to kick and punch. He wanted to tug at his own hair. He wanted to slash anything or anyone with a blade. He wanted to kill and hear screams. He wanted to-

"Kreacher."

"Will Master Regulus need breakfast?"

Regulus' face softened and he knelt down to look at the elf who had practically raised him, feeling the scratchy Victorian rug that lined the halls and stairs against his knees through his pants. He stared down at the pattern for a moment, calming himself before looking up into Kreacher's eyes. "No thank you, Kreacher." There were flowers on the edges of the rug. They were red. Maroon. He swallowed. "But perhaps lunch for when I return. You don't need to worry about the time." Kreacher's eyes were pale and grey, eerily matching the family that had owned himself and his kin for generations.

"Of course." The elf bowed and moved to the side, allowing Regulus room to pass.

The carpet scraped his palm softly as he pushed himself back up. He wanted to rub his skin raw against it until the fabric felt like blades. "Thank you," Regulus said quietly before standing and stepping past Kreacher to continue down the stairs. The fear kicked in again—the fear that he was becoming something horrible or had already. He was a monster. His blood boiled, and he had to hold back the need to run. Instead, he calmly stepped into an alleyway and disapparated.


	2. Answer the Call

When the world came back into focus, Reuglus stood before a grand manor. The iron gate was before him, and the large, well-kept lawn beyond that. The manor itself was a dark smudge against the landscape, an imposing and impressive shadow against the newly-risen sun. He was as close as he could get with the apparition wards surrounding the place and blocking him, and he stared forward for a moment. Why was he here? He had started to come here far too often. It was dangerous to become attached, and even having a habit was an attachment. Still, Regulus knew what he needed, and he knew only one person who was going to not only give him that, but take it so for-granted that word of it would go nowhere else.

He let out a breath and walked through the gate and through the wards, knowing they would alert Rodolphus of a presence, but not of any danger. Regulus was cleared to be here. After all, they were related and on the same side of the war ripping through the wizarding world. He scanned first the grounds for his cousin-in-law, then walked up to the door to knock when he saw nothing but greenery: grasses and hedges and rose bushes. It was a stroke of luck that Rodolphus himself answered, rather than a house-elf, and the moment Regulus saw the other man, taller and darker with cinnamon eyes, he smirked.

Memories, very real memories, flashed through his mind. People screaming. Blood flowing. The sound of crying, shouting, begging. Flashes of green light. Red light. Blue light. Bones breaking. Moans and yelps. Alcohol. A cocktail of potions. Hands flying back against a headboard. Back arching, body tensing. Moaning. Laughing. Screaming.

"I do hope you have your knife on you, cousin."

"Of course." Rodolphus smirked, a darkly charismatic smirk that Regulus knew well and sometimes craved. He had no real love for the man standing in front of him, of course, but the expression that Regulus was beginning to hold so dear meant that he would be able to leave his internal pain behind in favor of the world of physical pain: pure, simple, easy to get past and to bear. The worst that could happen was that he could bleed, ache, scream, or shatter. It was nothing, really. It was easy, and it was fascinating.

"Shall we?" Regulus stepped to the side of the door, letting his cousin-in-law out of the house. Rodolphus strode onto the porch, satisfaction still written across his face, then turned to lock the door and reset the wards with a lazy flick of his wand. When he turned back to Regulus, his smirk had widened, glimmering behind his eyes, dark but bright like the sheen of wet tar. "Where to, dear cousin?" was his question, his voice low yet filled with mirth.

Just as Regulus opened his mouth to answer—thinking of a small muggle pub known already for violence somewhere near his home—they both paused, feeling their skin burn and crawl. Both of their arms twitched lightly in reaction—Rodolphus, his left and Regulus, being left-handed, his right. Regulus' grey eyes slid shut and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes again to see Rodolphus grinning at him widely and wildly, the expression all teeth. Regulus grinned back in much the same matter before putting his hand to the mark underneath his clothes and, once Rodolphus had temporarily taken down the apparition wards which would go right back up once they were gone, turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack.

It was strange seeing the Dark Lord in the daytime. Meetings were hardly ever held during the day, and the sunlight glanced off of the pale skin of their master's face, shadowed only barely by the black hood he wore. His red eyes flashed brightly with anger, and yet there was a smirk present as well, which made the blood of everyone in the circle run cold. It meant that he already knew how to ensure his revenge for whatever slight—real or imagined—he had suffered. They could each only hope that it was not themselves who had been the perpetrator.

Regulus, the youngest and originally nothing more than a symbol of good will and loyalty between his family and the pureblood cause, an ambassador and trophy of sorts, took his place in the circle directly across from his master. He had once been under the most scrutiny due to his physical and abstract positions, but had quickly proved himself loyal once he'd been a true member outside of school. Still, his place in the circle of Death Eaters had remained the same, and each meeting provided him with a complete viewing of each expression on his master's face. From behind his mask, he watched carefully and shrewdly, though always avoiding eye contact, keen on noticing as much as possible. His master's moods were both fickle and horrifically important to keep track of. Still watching, Regulus shifted lightly in the grass of the forest clearing, glanced up toward the green-filtered light shining through the leaves, then stilled, his head bowing as the Dark Lord spoke, his ears straining to hear each and every expression that his eyes would now miss.

"Welcome, my Death Eaters," the man said concisely. Each word was emphasized and drawn out in almost a teasing manner. His voice was nearly quiet enough to be a hiss, dark and foreboding. Regulus let out a deep breath at the sound, hearing the flow of air shake as it escaped him. No matter how hard he fell, he would never stop fearing the Dark Lord. He may call the man master, but there was certainly no trust. He did this for himself and possibly his family, no one else. The voice continued and an ant skittered across the blade of grass at which Regulus stared. "A single source of rebellion against me has finally been recognized. Defiance that finally has a name—" The Dark Lord began to pace, his strides long and threatening, into and then out of the center of the circle—"They are, as I always suspected they would be, led by Dumbledore." The pacing stopped, and the Dark Lord's voice grew all the more cold. "They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix."

Regulus chanced a change of position, lifting his head just enough to glance up past his eyelashes and mask, able to catch sight of his master's face without looking any less submissive. The eyes flashed even redder, if that was at all possible, as though the whites were now red as well perhaps bloodshot with rage. Regulus blinked, doubtful that his perceptions were entirely accurate. Emotions did not affect the body so obviously so quickly, even if his lord did spit out the name of the organization as though it were a curse. Blood-red swiveled suddenly to meet Regulus' own cool, grey gaze, and Regulus froze, finding himself unable to look away.

"One of their most beloved fighters is, of course, Sirius Black, rivaled only by James Potter."

Several hisses sounded at the name, the loudest of which belonged to Bellatrix who was counterpoint to Regulus, over at his left. For Regulus, there was nothing to do but raise his head slowly, already caught in and resigned to the eye contact, and gulp. Images of torture flashed through his mind as he wondered whether or not he would be made to pay for his brother's shortcomings in the pureblood culture they had both been born into. He knew also that the Dark Lord would be able to sense this worry easily, perhaps even be good enough to see what Regulus' own imagination was seeing. It did not matter. He would know the answer to his fearful, internal question soon enough.

To his relief, nothing came. The Dark Lord's gaze moved on, leaving Regulus to wonder whether his thoughts of torture had been brought to the surface by his own mind or by the force of his master's. Was it a warning? Or was his fear a mere coincidence that appeased the imposing figure at the head of the circle? Regulus could not know and, deep down, he knew it did not matter. All that mattered was that the blood irises had moved away. He closed his eyes for just seconds and let out a soft breath before staring down once more at the grass.

"We shall test them, and the ministry as well. How quickly can their numbers convene? How foolishly do they act? How impotent will they be against us, the single most powerful force fighting for the good of the wizarding world?" The Dark Lords voice rose in volume as he spoke, taking on a rallying tone, inviting nods and, from those whose masks left exposed the bottoms of their faces, grins. None dared cheer, though Bellatrix nearly flung herself forward in fervor, crying out, "Yes, my lord! Let us test them!" Regulus' eyes traced his cousin's movements. Her knees had bent slightly as though she had meant to kneel, and her hands had clasped.

The Dark Lord and the rest of the circle had already seen too many of such shows to be surprised, though there was still always the strange, breathless silence, and the slight shift of mood. None could imagine acting as Bellatrix did, and yet the Dark Lord tolerated it from her alone, perhaps sensing that the enthusiasm was completely genuine. Regulus' eyes shifted to Rodolphus who, shaded by a large branch of a pine tree, shifted uncomfortably next to his wife. He knew Rodolphus found the worship to be off-putting and had once resented it before giving up on doing anything so impossible as taming a Black.

As Regulus had thought, the Dark Lord had already stepped quietly and slowly over to Bellatrix, a satisfied, indulgent smirk on his lips as he placed a hand softly on top of her hooded head. "Yes," he said softly before pulling his hand back to the crown of her head and then away with a caress. "We shall test them. And who here—" he stepped away from Bellatrix, back toward the center of the circle, and lifted his arms up slightly, imploring to all of them, though he doubtless knew the answer already—"Who here would like to bring Sirius Black to me? His head on a plate, his eyes roving with pain!" Regulus bit his tongue hard and kept his gaze down, praying the tension in his shoulders did not show. He pushed away memories and images of his brother in such pain, knowing not to invite any more emotion that might show in his body language or in his eyes.

"Me, my Lord!" Bellatrix finally did fall down to her knees, one hand in the grass, the other raised as if she had only just stopped herself from touching her master's robes. "I will bring the bloodtraitor to you. The shame of my poor aunt's flesh and bones."

There was a silence that Regulus had no doubt had been purposeful and drawn out for effect. A stillness and deep silence came over them all, the circle of slightly bowed, hooded figures, the darkness of their robes contrasting with the brightness of the daylight shining through to the clearing, lighting up the world with an airy green and earthy brown. "Yes," the Dark Lord hissed, finally breaking the moment, aware that every follower, met by silence first, had been straining their ears to listen, intent and completely attentive. "You will." He paused again before stepping back into his place and raising his voice back into a rallying cry. "We go to Diagon Alley today! I say today, and not tonight, for this day we shall emerge from the shadows. They will recognize us and bow in fear! They will finally see the shadows that they cannot outrun! When we meet again, we will revel in the success of fear, having tested our enemies and having been proved to be the greater force!"

The single voice rang through the air, and, though no one dared cheer, the audible excitement followed—the shifting of impatient feet, the rustling of hands in robes, perhaps finding wands in preparation perhaps clenching bracingly at cloth, the murmur of breathing and heartbeats that raced. "Now go!" was the Dark Lord's last command, his face arranged into an expression of triumph. Regulus caught his master's eyes one last time, just long enough to see a much darker smirk flicker through that gaze, then spun, welcoming instead the green blur of the spinning forest around him, and disapparated.


	3. Take a Fall

"I suppose we know 'where to' now," Rodolphus' voice spoke quietly behind him just as Regulus reappeared in a gloomy alleyway in Knockturn Alley. Rodolphus' breath pressed warmth against Regulus' neck as the hood of his robe had fallen, and Regulus fought off the urge to jump, turning it instead into a quick turn even as he recognized the deep, gravelly yet silky tone. He smirked behind his mask, sure the expression would show in his eyes and tone. "I suppose we do," he answered with ease, pulling his hood back over his head.

A building exploded next to him, and Regulus laughed, easily warping his anxiety into a feeling of giddiness even as he shied away from the debris and flames. He ducked into the building next to him, causing a man who had been hiding just underneath the shop front window to run and let out a frightened shout. Regulus let him go, amused enough by such a response, and looked around at the room. Yes, he did recognize this place; it was an inn, the bottom floor of which was a pub. Tables and chairs were overturned from the rush of people trying to escape Diagon Alley as it burned and seethed with enemies.

Regulus' eyes landed on a set of stairs that he'd never really noticed before. Acting merely on whim, he made his way over, winding across the linoleum floor and through the obstacle course of wooden tables and chairs. The stairs were creaky but stable, and Regulus trailed his fingers up the smoothly polished banister idly. The last thing any of them had expected was an attack in the middle of the day. Never before had the Death Eaters been allowed to be so bold, and Regulus doubted it would happen again anytime soon. He was going to relish it.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he looked around at the unpolished wooden hallway carpeted by a dusty rug that ran down the middle, similar to the one at home but much more plain and more threadbare. He smirked slightly before turning left and slamming the door open, his wand out. "No one here," he mourned in a singsong voice before crossing the hall to the door on his right and checking there as well. He checked each door, staying on guard whenever he opened one as he didn't know what might be behind it, and sighed when he reached the last one. If fifteen other doors had led to empty rooms, it was likely that everyone had left at the first sign of trouble.

As he suspected, the sixteenth room was as empty as the rest. A small amount of irritation registered on Regulus' mostly inexpressive face, and he crossed the room to the double-door balcony. After stepping around a dusty, black shirt that had likely been left behind in the rush to leave, Regulus flung open the glass double-doors and stepped outside. Habitually, he expected fresh air and a bright day of sun shining down on the roofs of Diagon Alley. Instead, he was greeted by fire and screams and tinny laughter muffled by masks. He grinned behind his own mask, and excitement rushed through him again at the sight, renewed from his failure to find anyone to play with.

The sight was invigorating, and Regulus swung his legs up over the balcony railing to sit and take it all in for a moment. The shoppers and shopkeepers were being herded helplessly around the streets. The only exit into London was the Leaky Cauldron and the only other options were the floo or apparition. No one wanted to run all the way to the Cauldron; no one wanted to risk trapping themselves in a building with Death Eaters close at hand, and even less people wanted to risk turning their backs in order to spin and apparate. With not a single good decision in sight, most of them slipped into nothing more than a panic, running this way and that, cornering themselves in the dead ends of the alleyways or even running to Knockturn Alley, which Regulus doubted would get them far either.

He laughed as he watched, a loud laugh that he often hated simply because it reminded him so much of his brother's. They had once sounded the same, but then Sirius' voice had changed more than Regulus' had, and Regulus could laugh or speak as he pleased without being confused for the other one. That didn't keep his own laugh from reminding him of Sirius, but he ignored it for now, contenting himself watching the trapped fools. A bunch of them sprinted toward a road leading to Knockturn Alley, and Regulus waved his wand lazily. A building erupted, cutting them off, and a few Death Eaters ran toward them, sending shrieks into the air. Regulus laughed again, a manic giggle as he tried to hold it back.

"You're turning into your cousin, Black," A deep, slow voice said behind him. Regulus didn't even bother turning. Anyone would know that voice. It was very distinct. It was also entirely intimidating in the best of ways.

"Hello, Severus," Regulus said mildly, smirking behind his mask. "What brings you here?"

"I noticed a fool sitting on top of a railing, just waiting to fall." As the other man spoke, Regulus could feel him step up next to him, close enough that he could brush him right off of the balcony. Regulus didn't so much as flinch.

"Think of it as a broom ride," Regulus told him. He received a short, noncommittal hum in response. Severus didn't like brooms, and Regulus knew this, but he'd managed to communicate clearly that one shouldn't forget that he'd been a seeker. Being high up in a place where he would have to depend on agility was nothing new to him. Even if it was stupid.

"And when the building explodes?"

"I'll jump." Regulus finally turned to him with a grin that he knew would show in his eyes. Black eyes bored into his own, but Regulus held the gaze. He didn't fear it like many did. He didn't even care that it felt just like when the Dark Lord read him. He had nothing to hide from Severus. If he ever did one day, he could take care of it then.

"A foolproof plan as always, Black. Worthy of your—"

Regulus cut him off with a snarl. "Watch it Snape, or you'll be the one falling off of here." The look in those black eyes didn't change, and Regulus knew to picture the small twist of a sardonic smirk on thin lips.

"Doubtless."

With a sigh, Regulus let it go, easily reverting their bickering to a friendlier conversation. It was always this way, and Regulus enjoyed it really. The intro to any of their conversations was like a little exercise for his brain. Plus, he secretly thought that Severus only appreciated a person who could hold their own against him first. It was like passing a test of worth. "Where is this going?" He asked, knowing Severus would be able to deduce what he meant without him saying more.

"Not very far." A single nod toward the alley made his point. Regulus followed his gaze and saw about fifteen people apparate into the street at once. As if led by radar, his eyes instantly found straight black hair that draped like silk down a neck and, when the man turned, draped over grey eyes.

"Let's see how they pass the test," Regulus said, a smirk gracing his own features. He glanced at Severus before he slipped off of the railing. He loved the feeling of falling. He loved the jolt of his stomach just before it started to feel more like floating than anything else. He even liked landing—the moment in which every one of his bones was jostled until he had to make sure they were all intact before walking stiffly and then more firmly for a few steps. He saw his brother turn and grinned before blocking the stunning spell easily.


	4. The Interlude

"Sir'" the younger boy whispered, his hand grasping at the elder's sleeve. They were both crouched by the bushes on the side of the house, mere steps away from the sidewalk. Once they stepped out of the property lines, seeming to appear out of nowhere between the seamless townhouses, their parents would feel the wards, and they would have to run for it. "Sir,' Mummy and Daddy said no. We're going to get into trouble."

A young Sirius Black turned and looked over his shoulder at the boy who, in those days, could pass as his miniature, and grinned, though there was a sharp, childish impatience to the expression. "Come on, Reg. It won't be too bad, and they're playing football! You said you wanted to try. I reckon it's even more fun than Quidditch," he continued, now looking at the children in the park across the street longingly, "all that running, yeah?"

Regulus sighed, squirming closer to his brother's back. He didn't want to be too far behind when they ran. Despite his sigh, he wriggled excitedly and couldn't help agreeing with his brother. "Yeah." One nod from the littlest, and the argument was over. They were in it together.

"Ready?" The moment he could feel his brother nod against his shoulder, the older boy dove forward into a sprint. There were no cars around, and they both ran straight across the street toward the park, the younger trailing behind much less than it seemed like he should; he was smaller but quite fast. They didn't slow until their feet finally reached the grassy lawn of the park, and the younger brother tumbled into the other's back before catching himself.

"Sir,' look!" he whispered excitedly, grasping at his brother's sleeve again and pointing quickly at a group of boys a few yards away kicking around a black and white ball. It wasn't checkered, exactly, and the design was very strange, but Regulus wanted to try badly. It looked like great fun. He was practically bouncing in his place in the grass.

"Let's go join them." The eldest stepped forward purposely, but the youngest hesitated for a moment as if realizing that they might not be welcome or perhaps just feeling shy. Eventually, though, he ran to catch up with his brother, and they walked over to the group together. "Alright?" Sirius called out to the player closest to them. She kicked the ball away before turning to them.

"Alright," she replied before cocking her head lightly. "You want to play?" She asked, looking the two boys up and down. They looked almost exactly the same, so it would be a good idea to put them on the same side. The younger boy nodded first with such shy enthusiasm that she had to smile at him. "Go on that side," she said, pointing, "and get the ball into that net," she pointed again. "No hitting," she added, "and no hands."

The younger boy was used to being bossed around and nodded with another smile before easily going to join the children on his side. He paused, though, when he realized his older brother had not done the same, instead giving the girl in front of him a critical look. "Siri," the younger brother whined quietly so that no one but his brother and the girl would hear him. He wanted to play. When his brother joined him, the game, which had paused for a moment while everyone had watched the exchange, continued.

A half hour or so of the day passed happily this way. The two boys laughed and booed with the rest of their team during mess ups, triumphs, and losses. The younger one proved his worth by being able to out-sprint and, thanks to his small size, out-maneuver most of the other boys, and made quite a few goals. It didn't last forever though, and the eldest brother was in the middle of trying to fight the ball away from another boy on the opposing team when all of the children, the younger brother most especially, went still.

A woman was stalking toward them all, dressed very strangely in a robe that was too long to be a bathrobe and too grand to be a graduation robe. She was tall and imposing, and the children around the two brothers thought that she was quite the spectacle. A few of the children giggled, but then crowded close together. She was very frightening, and the look on her face said clearly that she didn't care for a single one of them one bit. "Sirius Orion and Regulus Arcturus Black!" She shrieked when she was close enough. This caused some more giggles, this time at the boys, and the younger brother ducked his head and blushed. "Get over here!"

The younger brother scampered over without hesitation, but the older one set his jaw and pouted for a moment before walking over slower, his body language straight and proud. The woman grabbed both of the boy's arms viciously and marched them away—out of the park, across the street, and back to the invisible house that no one knew existed. The children left behind looked around at each other, shrugged or laughed, and went back to their play. The adults exchanged skeptical glances before going back to talking or reading their books or magazines.

The two boys exchanged glances, one guilty and one triumphant, and each silently thought that it wasn't so bad being sent up to their room after all since they had each other there anyway, even if Phineas Nigellus would tell on anything they did. It was just a shame that they didn't get supper.

:::

Regulus stared into the fire, nursing a large mug of firewhiskey as he ignored the talk of the others around him. Those boys had existed so long ago and had changed so much that Regulus had trouble even assigning names to them. A younger brother and an older one and only a few signs in sight that one would be a blood traitor and the other would be… what was he exactly? Monster. Hero. Murderer. Soldier. Too many conflicting words sped through his mind. And yet how conflicting were they, really? Each of them could only be separated from the other by the mere technicality and subjectivity of morality.

"If it weren't you, I'd ask why you were moping."

"Are you implying that you know me so well that you know why or are you implying that I mope as others breathe?"

"Both." The voice behind him laughed, and its owner came into his view before sitting down next to him on the black leather sofa complemented by green and silver throw pillows—Malfoy Manor had a sitting room almost ridiculously reminiscent of the Slytherin common room. Objectively, he knew she was quite attractive; glossy, dark brown hair and round brown eyes the color of melted chocolate. Her skin was light, but golden, and that and the somewhat thick jawline made Regulus suspect she had some Italian in her though they'd never happened to speak of it, not even after their parents had met up at the most intimate of dinner parties to discuss the marriage they'd arranged. "It's that idiotic brother of yours isn't it?" Alecto asked.

Regulus simply shrugged, looking away from her and back into the flames. He would wed her of course, and he'd known that since he'd been sixteen and she'd been seventeen, but no matter how often or for how long he looked at her, it would only ever be because of duty. The spark of fire in her warm eyes did nothing for him, and the dull shine of it in his grey did nothing for her. They both knew it, and they both accepted it.

"I saw you two fighting," she remarked before stealing a sip of his whiskey. Regulus put a hand up between them when she offered it back and let her keep it. "You're much more still. Languid. It's actually quite attractive."

Again, Regulus said nothing. He didn't want to think of his brother. He didn't want to think of the special hatred and betrayal that flashed through his brother's when nearly identical eyes met, one pair shadowed by nothing but hair, the other pair shadowed by a mask. It made his skin crawl and his stomach tighten. Whether it was with disgust, anxiety, anger, or some combination of the three, Regulus did not know.

"Would you kill him, Regulus?" She asked, her voice quiet and curious rather than challenging. She wanted to know the real answer and Regulus knew that, despite their lack of love, there was enough loyalty—some out of fear of social retribution and some born of actual respect—there that she would tell no one if he said no.

"I'm sworn to do whatever my Lord asks of me," Regulus responded simply, meeting her eyes steadily as he took the mug back to take a long sip. He handed it back and watched as she smiled wryly. She knew as well as he did what such an indirect answer meant. It meant that Regulus had no idea.


	5. The Kill

"Look at her."

Regulus did so lazily, still draped over the black leather armchair in the sitting room at the Lestranges'. He could feel sweat still clinging to his body, some from the drugs, some from the physical paces Rodolphus had put him through after the victory get-together at the Malfoys'.

The woman was limp, kneeling like a puppet that had been dropped. He could see where the blood was matting her hair together and could image the sharp iron scent of it though he knew it was likely only in his mind, likely helped along by the taste of it in his own mouth. He ran his tongue across his teeth, dry and sticking, then swallowed, still tasting the metals of blood and adrenaline.

"She's beautiful," Rodolphus whispered, circling her and bending down to grab a strand of her caramel hair and swoop it through the air with his movements like a ribbon. The woman did nothing but shiver, wise enough to not rise and to keep her eyes shut. Rodolphus was like a hound; he loved nothing more than he loved a chase.

Regulus felt nausea rise up from the deepest part of his guts and burn in this throat. Letting his head drop back heavily so that it strained his neck, Regulus shut his eyes and tried to hold the feeling down. He couldn't. His bare skin was covered with goosebumps and fluids and the sweat was turning cold and clammy as he let out a sigh deep enough that it was almost the whisper of a moan or a growl. He didn't hear Rodolphus step up, and when he felt fingertips press into the skin of his lower stomach, Regulus startled, pulling himself up with only his stomach muscles. It made the blood in his head rush and his torso burn with the effort. Propping himself up with his hands, he found himself staring into Rodolphus' dark eyes, his back still stinging from being torn from the sticking leather.

"Still feel good, Black?" the man nearly purred, pushing his fingers sloppily through the thick roots of Regulus' hair, making it stand on end even after the hand had pulled away. The fingers on his other hand still brushed back and forth across Regulus' stomach, travelling lower.

It was hard to resist the feeling of that touch, but it was also hard to resist the feeling of nausea rising through him, especially as he'd been pulled upward so quickly, his equilibrium at a loss. He decided on honesty and shook his head rather than risk losing his dinner all over Rodolphus' floor. His breath hitched when fingers deftly traced against the new cut into his stomach and he held back a groan and tensed, just barely keeping himself from arching up. "No," he whispered, his tone vague enough that whether he was answering the question or telling Rodolphus to stop was a mystery even to himself. Maybe both.

Those slender fingers dug in, and Regulus called out, bucking but this time in pain. "Do you want more or do you want to leave?" Rodolphus asked impatiently.

Regulus shook his head. He wasn't sure if Rodolphus meant more drugs or more… this. Either way, it didn't matter. "I'm going home."

The girl behind Rodolphus' towering frame finally slid sideways to the floor, and Regulus felt nausea hit him again so that he held his mouth firmly shut to muffle a retch. The cocktail of substances was wearing off and leaving withdrawal in its wake. He could hardly even remember what they'd done. Her hair fell over her face, hiding it, and Regulus counted it as a blessing that he couldn't even recall a single one of her features. Rodolphus pulled him to his feet firmly, but not overly-rough, and it reminded Regulus of his brother in a strange way.

_Come _on _Reg! Get _up_, Uncle Alphard is coming today!_

Regulus swayed against the red-carpet floor, on the verge of a flashback, and shook his head to chase the ghosts away. He refocused just in time to have his clothes shoved into his arms. Painfully and slowly, he got dressed, both hating and loving the stinging of slices and bruises and bites on his skin as he moved and as his clothing brushed against them. "I'm not coming back," he said flatly as he finished and lit up a cigarette.

Regulus said the same words exactly the same way every single time. And they were always a lie. He always came back. Sometimes it took longer than others so that he was gasping with need only a few minutes in to whatever they decided to do that day, begging to chase adrenaline and poisons and pleasure through their bodies. Sometimes it was so often that he could pretend to be bored and unaffected even at the first slice or hit of one thing or another against his flesh.

"Of course not," Rodolphus said, just as casually and without a hint of sarcasm behinds his words. For whatever reason, he actually respected this part of their twisted little ritual. He did not doubt Regulus, here and now, meant the words, but neither did he believe them, and Regulus knew it. There had been a time when he would mean it; now he wasn't so sure.

Regulus stumbled out of the mansion and into the cold. He took a deep breath of the bitter air, inviting the burn that would rip apart his insides so that they might match his flesh and his soul. It didn't happen. Instead, it dulled him with each step, and by the time he had apparated back to his own home and collapsed into his bed, he was completely numb. At least this way, he could sleep and drift away into nothing.


End file.
